The girl in the library wouldn’t stop staring. I was working on a novel, same as usual, but out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but watch her. Her legs were curled under her on the sofa, and the book she had open in front of her was something fantasy-based. Wide, black-rimmed glasses framed a wonderfully pretty face. She wasn’t wearing anything special, just a comfy-looking pullover and tight jeans. The stare stretched on a while, five minutes, longer again. Oh, sure, occasionally she’d glance down at her book and pretend like she was reading it. Eventually, my curiosity overcame my caution and I closed the lid on my laptop. Slipped it into my backpack, swung the thing over my shoulders. Then I got up and walked towards her. I couldn’t read those eyes of hers. They were this light, baby-blue colour, all innocence. But there was something just a little darker lurking under the surface, I was sure of it. My constant paranoia had been in pretty good swing of late. But she looked gorgeous, and if I was honest, I wasn’t really feeling writing today. My car was parked outside, and my paycheck from the last online release was sitting comfortably in my bank account. Wouldn’t kill me to take a chance that this adorably cute wallflower was interested. She swung her feet off the sofa and looked down, like she’d not been staring at all, and I just stood there, looking over her. She was tall, I realised, a proper statuesque stunner. Slim, curved out in all the right places. There were quirky green Cons on her feet, and as I glanced down at my own, I decided that we would’ve easily fallen under some hashtag on social media if we were to do some casual photo shoot. #beautifulnerds or something. Read more »